


Shakin' Hands and Kissin' Babies

by orphan_account



Series: Modern Medicine [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Ghouls, M/M, Prequel, Robots, widower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“An hour inside, and already putting out for political favors.”</p><p>“Well, I would be, but you’re way the fuck over there.” The words were out before he’d thought about them, and Hancock laughed, a low sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shakin' Hands and Kissin' Babies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hokkaido_Ito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokkaido_Ito/gifts).



> Even though Fallout wiki says that marijuana did exist in the Fallout universe, we never see any in game for obvious reasons. So instead of that nonsense, for the purposes of these fics I use Hubflower to the same effect. I'm going to call it artistic license.

   Nate stretched, arching his back across the bench behind him. His long johns, freshly laundered by Codsworth just before he left, and the trash can fire kept the chill of the Commonwealth to the tree-line before him. He was fiddling with his pipe pistol again, whittling the stock a little smoother, before sanding and oiling it. He’d used oak for easy supply, but it meant too firm a grip during a fire-fight and he’d be sanding the imprint of his fingers out of it again.

  
   Still the gun felt firm in his hands, and had never popped on him like the close fighting pistols they’d been issued for fighting in the back allies of France.

  
   Nate had hated France.

  
   Maybe it was because he had seen it during wartime, where the people were either spitting in the street or worried faces in a window.

  
   He’d also almost lost a finger to one of those stupid pistols.

  
   ‘But not your ring finger?’ Nora had written, even though he’d only gotten her reply three months later. It felt as though they’d needed him everywhere, making his snail mail play a merry game of tag.

  
   Now if he needed to send a letter, he’d send Codsworth or Dog. In this fever dream they were his two most reliable friends. Codsworth would come home with the occasional ding, but nothing worse than the equivalent of what Nate got and medic’d himself, in field. Dog appeared to teleport, always where you needed him, a few moments after the important stuff was over.

  
   He couldn’t send Dog for medical supplies, however. Preston would’ve been with him, but he was out at Tempines Bluff. Apparently there was a swearing in ceremony for the Minutemen, and Preston was required to attend. Nate was just glad he wasn’t the poor bastard being sent out on one more initiation/scavenger hunt.

  
   Whenever he’d signed on, his brother and Nora and a few of Nora’s school friends had all gone out, gotten drunk and roamed the streets until dawn. Nate understood ritual.

  
   That still meant he was alone in downtown Boston, crouched in the shadow of an old high rise, the fire ladder casting spidery shadows from the flicker of his fire. Jun Long had been coughing for a while now, and Mama Murphy wanted a stimpak, the first healthy thing she’d asked for since he’d brought her bourbon. Nate himself was here for ammo, maybe some Jet, or a few Mentats if he was lucky.

  
   One more town meeting without something to block out Marcy and Nate was going to drown himself in the river, no matter how much Codsworth wept and wrung his hands like a schoolmarm.

  
   A distant pop and Nate sat up, immediately kicking dust through the grating of his trash can, until his fire flickered to warm coals, barely casting a shadow on the red brick beside him. He’d stayed off the streets, sticking to back allies and broken entry-ways. Most of the buildings were raided past reason, everything not nailed down, destroyed or stolen. Nothing he hadn’t seen in other warzones, but how terrifying to see it in Boston. Otherwise they were boarded up, by the hopeful dwellers of Massachusetts who had believed plywood would save them from the radiation burns and poison. Now they were charcoaled skeletons and smears on the wall, that Nate kicked over to grab the telephone from their hands and dissemble for the circuitry.

  
   The upside was that he hadn’t heard any gunfire all day, not since he’d left the vicinity of Diamond City, which seemed under constant siege from the Supermutant threat. A distant yell, and Nate was already shouldering his bags. He’d been lucky in his hunt. Only shame was that he couldn’t carry more. But as he ran, sure of foot over the cracked sidewalks of downtown Boston, away from the ever louder ratatat of machine gun fire he was glad not to be slowed down. He’d gotten lucky. They’d probably seen his fire ages ago, while he’d been casually grilling some radstag.

  
    He darted around a corner, and blinked up at the sudden light. A huge neon sign, hidden by the apartment building he’d been camped by lit up the evening sky.

  
   “Goodneighbor.” Nate muttered under his breath, slowing to a brisk walk as he approached the door. Best not to seem desperate. As with any fine establishment it was probably a good way to get turned away at the door.

  
   But there was no one guarding the door, as friendly as the name suggested, if a little trusting. He slid quickly inside, and blinked at the change in light. Like Diamond City, they appeared to have ample power even if at a crude level. Unlike Diamond City, it was a mess. Mattresses lined the street before him, stained from weather and use. Trash can fires flickered, lighting up the darker corners, supplementing the flicking street lamps, and the air carried the hot smell of gunfire, and long cooked food.

  
   Nate took one step into the city and was stopped abruptly by a large man, basic mercenary gear, stepping directly into his line of sight.

  
   Nate had cleared a group of men out of an emptied coffee shop just this morning, that had looked just like him. It was their blood he’d been wiping off the butt of his pipe pistol only a few minutes ago.

  
   “Entrance fee.” The man said, his voice low, and gruff and Nate had one hand on the gun at his hip. He’d use the 10 mil. It had been one of those of days.

  
   “Can I see some identification?” Nate said calmly, and watched a deep flush climb up the other mans neck. He shifted his stance into Nate’s personal space, crowding him back towards the door, or else be pressed into his uncomfortable leather. Nate could smell him this close, grease and sweat and it made his nose wrinkle.

  
   “I think you need to pay up, or get out Vault boy.”

  
   Nate rolled his eyes and swung, the fist with the Pip-Boy, because he’d drunk some gin with dinner, and was feeling rowdy. The man reeled back, one hand flailing forward, which Nate side-stepped easily.

  
   A guard, standing to the side, one hand on his gun whistled, his eyes wary as he watched them face off.

  
   “Eh, fuck off Flinn.” Someone called from a balcony. “Hancock warned you.”

   “Fuck him!” The man shouted, and Nate realized he’d walked into something more complicated than your average skavver. He hadn’t meant to get, well, political.

  
   He took a step forward, as though to walk around him, but the man, Flinn grabbed him, swinging him around and Nate let his body instinctually ragdoll, the dead weight slowing his spin.

  
   “You waste, pay up.” Flinn muttered shaking his collar. And Nate thought about it. He really did. He’d just traded a bunch of carrots to an underground drug runner near Hangman’s ally. He had some jangle in his pocket. It wasn’t his normal solution, but he’d just gotten here-

  
   Instead, Flinn stiffened with a cough, and fell forward. It wasn’t until Nate looked down that he saw the knife sticking between his ribs, the weathered hand holding it steady, keeping him alive.

  
   “I did warn you Flinn.” The ghoul said, and his voice sounded stern but final, and Nate’s hand for better of for worse was lifting off his gun, as though the threat was gone, when a man in a full period costume was wiping his bloody knife on the back of the man he’d just killed.

  
   The ghoul stepped forward, one hand slipping the knife quickly into his boots, the other outstretched, and Nate reached out, gripping his hand in a swift shake.

  
   Touch was important to ghouls but he didn’t respond like they normally did, startled and trying to hide it. Instead, he raised him a wink, and Nate felt his eyebrows raising, without his conscious guidance.

  
   “First night in Goodneighbor?” And the guards hadn’t done more than blink, at the body laid across his feet like a dead mouse. “I’m Hancock.”

  
   “I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble.” Nate said, exhausted. He’d thought he was safe for the night, and here he was in a strange new city, another death on his hands. “I already have a reputation.”

  
   Hancock laughed, like he’d said something clever, and pulled him forward, over Flinn’s cooling body, and into his own space, throwing an arm around Nate’s shoulder.

  
   “Shouldn’t have shone off in front of the mayor.” He stated drily, turning back to throw Nate a wink. His pupils were huge, blown wide.“Or worn that cute little jump suit.”

  
   He lead them quickly down the street, and Nate trailed after him. It seemed to be expected of him and Hancock lagged when he did, until Nate kept pace. People spread in front of the ghoul like he was damned pope, and Hancock handed out chems like blessings. Low greetings called, favors offered, and advice asked while Nate stood to one side, watching his purported savior, drift easily from corner to corner always heading forward and never stopping for long.

  
   A few turns and a whispered word at the door, and they were led quickly downstairs, the bar barely recognizable as a subway station, even to Nate who had used this same station, two hundred years ago.

  
   A man in full tux greeted Hancock with his name, and a nod, giving Nate the same brief respectful treatment.

  
    “Charlie!” Hancock roared, and the Mr. Gutsy at the bar whirled energetically in place, never stopping the constant rub of dish rag on whiskey tumbler.

  
   “Hancock, you bastard!” The barkeep replied, his cockney accent a sharp contrast to the low murmur of his patrons and the sultry jazz that filled the air. The whole room was dark with smoke both from cigarettes and the sharp tang of burning Hubflower buds.

  
   “How’ve you been Charlie?” And Nate paused in front of the stage, watching the singer’s expression as she belted the words, before sliding onto a barstool beside Mayor Hancock.

  
   “Good enough, with only this piss to drink.” He swung one eyeball round at Nate. “Whadya want?”

  
   “Gin.” Nate said, and Hancock clapped him on the back, one handed, so the other could pop the cap on the beer Charlie had handed him.

  
   “Good choice, Pip-boy.” Hancock said approvingly, leaning close so Nate could hear him over the chatter of the rest of the bar. His breath was warm and Nate turned to look him in the eye.

  
   “It was what I was drinking before those raiders flushed me out.”

  
   “You had no idea we were here?” and Hancock’s hand was still on his shoulder, two fingers examining the quality of his collar.

  
   “Not until I saw the light.”

  
   “Amen.” said Charlie drily, and put his glass on the bar, a different hand pouring a shot of the clear liquid, expertly.

  
   Nate tapped the bar top, and Hancock let go of his collar with a chuckle as Charlie poured the extra shot and dropped an ice cube in his double.

  
   “So why were you here.” He didn’t ask it like a question, even though his tone was still warm, and Nate was answering before he’d given it much thought.

  
   “I’m an emissary for Sanctuary.” Nate said. Preston had taught him this one, the careful statement of his connections and intentions.

  
   No I.D. cards in the Commonwealth.

  
   “You’re that old vault dweller everyone can’t shut up about.” Charlie put in, and Nate smiled, a little off-kilter.

  
   “I’m just on a supply run.” Nate said and took a long, trusting sip of his drink. “Looking for ammo and drugs.”

  
   “A boy after my own heart.” Hancock murmured, and Nate could feel the blood rushing across his cheeks and over his ears.

  
   Felt Nora stroke a ghostly hand down his back.

  
   “Well we’re certainly available to trade.” Charlie said.

  
   “If you’ve got the right caps.” Hancock tossed back, and then whooped and clapped with the rest of the crowd, as the singer stepped off the stage.

  
   She was heading straight towards them, and Nate downed his drink in a hurry, wiping the back with his hand. Charlie was sliding another in front of him, before he’d even looked over.

  
   “Magnolia, gorgeous, meet our newest resident...”

  
   “Nate.” He supplied, and held out a hand for her to shake. She took it loosely, as though she didn’t shake hands often.

  
   “Any friend of the Mayor, is a friend of mine.” She said, sliding onto the barstool to Hancock’s other side, A hand smoothing the way her skirt lay, her heels perched gracefully on the rung before her. Her voice was low, and melodic, and up close Nate could see the fine crow’s feet lining her eyes, under careful make-up. The bar light was a kind friend though, and she was still stunning, even by old world standards.

  
   “Nice to meet you.” Nate said, and Hancock swigged his beer, and nudged Nate’s new drink closer.

  
   Hanging with the mayor and they probably weren’t even on the house.

  
   “Did you like the set?” Magnolia asked, holding out a cigarette for Charlie to light with an excellently timed burst of flame.

  
   “It was lovely as always.” Hancock said patting her hand, and she snorted, whuffing out a big breath of smoke.

  
   “Absolutely mesmerizing.” Charlie said, and even the metallic intonation couldn’t hide the wistful note in his voice.

  
   Hancock’s wink wasn’t subtle either.

  
   Magnolia was looking at him, waiting for his response, so Nate tore his gaze from the ghoul’s face, missing Hancock’s brief grin.

  
   “Is that song an original?” Nate asked, and at some point during his four shots, Hancock’s hand had gravitated from his collar all the way down to his thigh, and set up shop there.“I’ve never heard it before.”

  
   “You must’ve heard ‘em all.” Hancock said teasingly, but Magnolia was smiling at him, through her cloud of dragon smoke.

  
   “It is. Thank you, honey.”

  
   Nate smiled at her weakly, and Hancock’s hand left his knee abruptly enough for Nate to feel cold through the jump suit. It made Nate glance over at him, and Hancock was watching him already when he’d turned, those coal black eyes focused on his face. It made Nate flush, and this time he watched Hancock put his hand back, rubbing heavy circles on his thigh. The alcohol made him feel hot, and restless.

  
   The jangling piano that had filled Magnolia’s absence, pattered to a slow halt, and she sighed, stubbing out her cigarette and standing.

  
   “Later boys.” and she was gone, trailing smoke and perfume.

  
   “Well I’d better get going.” Nate said, pulling a big handful of caps from his pocket and letting them spill across the bar top. He stood, and Hancock‘s hand slid off slowly, making him tense. “Gotta find a room for the night.”

  
   “Probably Hotel Rexford.” Charlie said, polishing his glass violently.

  
   “Are any of the upstairs rooms open?” Hancock asked and Charlie huffed, setting the glass down and whirling his arms. Nate looked away, tward the door and then back at the mayor, Hancock, sitting warm beside him, hat at a jaunty angle.

  
   “You know they are.”

  
   “C’mon Pip-boy, let’s go.” He grabbed Nate’s arm and pulled, and Nate let him, dizzy from the drinks.

  
   And lonely. Without Nora, he was so desperately, achingly lonely.

  
   “I just have some business I want to discuss with you.” Hancock told him, but when he hit the stairwell, and Nate caught him by the arm, they both pressed into the kiss.

  
   He tasted like beer and something chemical. Nate leaned in, trying to figure it out.

  
   “Whoa, easy.” Hancock said, but he sounded flattered. “Let’s get to the room.”

  
   “Okay.” said Nate. He didn’t want to go to any room. He wanted to fuck right here. Nora and he had never fucked in a stairwell.

  
   Maybe it would feel less like a betrayal.

  
   Whether it was his tone, or his face, but when they got to the room, clearly kept just for Hancock, the ghoul gave him some distance, lighting a cigar and walking to look out the window.

  
   “You been to the Memory Den yet?” Hancock asked suddenly. Nate was settling into an armchair, undoing his laces. If he was going to get laid, he was taking off his boots first.

  
   “No. This is my first hour inside the walls.”

  
   Hancock turned around, leaning against the open sill.

  
   “An hour inside, and already putting out for political favors.”

  
   “Well, I would be, but you’re way the fuck over there.” The words were out before he’d thought about them, and Hancock laughed, a low sound.

  
   He strode toward Nate, and Nate was pulling him forward by the frock of his coat. He was surprisingly warm, for a ghoul, and he was also a fucking octopus, his hands everywhere, undressing Nate, unzipping his suit, and grabbing his ass all at once.

  
   The bourbon was making Nate nice and loose, and ‘Rocket 69‘ was playing on the radio, and all he could think of was Nora, smiling up from under him when he slid into her for the first time in the backseat of his Ford Airship.

  
   And then he was crying, huge gulping sobs against the other man’s chest, who had gone still and watchful against him.

  
   “Hey.” and Hancock’s voice was softer than it had been all night. “Hey, you coulda told me no, ya know?”

  
   And Nate laughed, a sharp bark, wet with phlegm from the back of his throat.

  
   “My wife is dead.” He said, and the words felt toxic on his tongue, like poison.

  
   “Oh.” Hancock sat perfectly still against him for a long second. “I never had a wife.”

  
   “I’m sorry.” Nate said, his voice dry. He meant it.

  
   “Hah!” Hancock paused and then said confidently. “You just need something stronger.You ever tried Jet?”

  
   An hour later, Nate was buried all the way in Hancock’s ass while he writhed under him. He knew what that chemical taste had been now. It filled his own mouth, his lungs, his brain like a fog. His dog tags slapped against his chest with every thrust. The sweat rolled down him like he was melting slowly into the other man, and when he came, it felt like he was flying, good enough to make his eyes roll.

  
   “Damn.” Hancock murmured, rolling out of the wet spot, leaving it for Nate. “Damn kid. You’re a great lay.”

  
   Nate groaned, threw an arm around him and fell asleep.

  
   He woke up to Hancock whistling along to Johnny Guitar as he pissed out the window.

  
   “Good morning, sunshine.” Nora had called him sunshine, and the soft smile that broke across Nate’s face startled Hancock into smiling back, one hand still loose on his dick.

  
   “Good morning.”

  
   And despite the massive fucking headache, it kinda was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> What if you go, what if you stay, [_I love you_](honeyedlion.tumblr.com).


End file.
